


I See You

by simplifiedemotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplifiedemotions/pseuds/simplifiedemotions
Summary: In the midst of an endless war and haunting personal turmoil, Bill learns what it means to see and be seen.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	I See You

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to my angst heaux, Avendell. You have made this last year so much better with your friendship and I appreciate you always. I hope you enjoy this hurt/comfort. <3
> 
> Thank you to the lovely NuclearNik for the last minute beta. <3

**1995**

She was beautiful.

That single thought was the only thing Bill Weasley had in his mind when Fleur Delacour entered the doors of Gringotts Bank.

He’d been in the process of handing over a report from a cursed family necklace that was found in some pure-blood’s vault he’d been having difficulty breaking. The slate-grey necklace was imbued with a rather nasty hex that had burned one of Bill’s hands earlier that day, causing him to favour his uninjured hand as he carried several files in one arm. He noticed the silver-blonde Veela enter as he walked across the main floor of the bank, looking curiously at her surroundings.

Her blue gaze landed on him, and Bill felt momentarily trapped as she scrutinised him. He thought she was perhaps looking at something behind him, but then recognition lit up her delicate features, and she headed straight towards him.

Like a deer in headlights, an expression his father was fond of saying whenever his mum was on a verbal tirade, Bill found himself unable to move, paralysed on the marble floor as she approached.

He straightened his shoulders from their hunched position into something resembling normalcy and nodded politely at her.

“You are William Weasley?” Delacour asked as she came to stand a few feet from him, her French accent lighter than Bill thought it would be from the way Ron had explained it. He at least somewhat expected it to come out like the voice of a posh queen who’d never known fun, but instead her tenor had a soft, almost alluring quality to it.

“Yes,” Bill replied, realising he had been gawking at her when she raised a blonde brow at him. He filtered through his thoughts for a moment before continuing, “Although most people call me Bill.”

“I see.” A smile tugged at her lips, and she tucked a straight piece of light blonde hair behind her ear. “Then who calls you William?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Mainly my mum when I’ve done something wrong in her eyes.” There was plain amusement dancing across her graceful features, and she seemed to be holding in a giggle as she pressed her fingers to her lips. “Excuse my manners,” he said, extending his hand forward to her to shake.

She shook it with a refined elegance he was never taught. “My name iz Fleur Delacour, haz your younger brother told you about me?”

“Ron?” Bill asked. “Yes, he has. So has my brother, Charlie, actually.” He laughed at the memory of his excited brother going on about how at least some witches and wizards understood the proper care when it came to magical creatures. “He actually gives his highest compliments to the only champion who didn’t tame their dragon through brute force.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, and Bill saw her satisfied expression peeking through in the barely-there smirk that was tugging at her full lips even as she tried to hide it. He wondered why that was. “Well,” she said, removing her hand from his and waving it around dismissively as if it were no big deal to handle a dragon, “not all beasts need to be tamed. Sometimes they just need... Oh, what do you call it?” she asked, looking lost in thought for a moment. “Gentle care?”

He nodded in agreement. “That’s right.”

She seemed to consider him moment, looking him up and down as if conducting a psychological sketch. She was more shrewd than she at first seemed. “You hurt your hand?” she asked, looking at the white bandages circling his palm.

While Bill was not going to complain about having a conversation with an attractive woman, he couldn’t help but wonder why Delacour was asking all of these questions to someone she’d just met. Maybe she was just curious, he concluded, and answered her. “Ah, yes. I got it from a hexed object this morning, actually.” He flexed his hand to show her it wasn’t serious. “It’ll heal. Nothing permanent.”

She nodded. “So it is often?” she asked. When Bill raised his brow in question she continued. “That you get in trouble?”

He smirked, but he felt like it was more off-balance than his usual attempts. Bill normally found it effortless to talk to women he was flirting with, and he definitely wanted to flirt with this stunning witch in front of him, but he found himself feeling something he usually didn’t: nervous. “Define often,” he said instead, his smooth words tying themselves in knots in his throat and refusing to mingle with his vocal chords.

Her eyes were interested now as she regarded him more fully. “From your appearanze, maybe a lot.”

“Oh?” he smiled.

“You wear your hair longer even though most wizards who look your age keep it short, and I don’t know many young men who wear earrings. You only have one. What iz it from or made of, exactly?”

“It’s a fang,” he said, amused at the way her eyes widened. And for the hair,” he ruffled his red hair while giving her a roguish grin, “it’s surprisingly less effort to let it grow out.”

She peered at the small fang for a moment, her head tilting forward before she slid her eyes back to him. “Did you catch the beast on your own?”

From the twinkle in Delacour’s eyes, he decided to take a chance on her. “That’s a pretty lengthy conversation,” Bill said casually. “One we would have to continue outside my working hours, I’m afraid.”

He smiled when her pale brow raised in question. “Is that so?” she asked, her own smile forming even though she pinched her lips together.

“It is,” he said, winking at her.

Her pretty cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, someone called her name. “Miss Delacour!” came a nasally voice from somewhere behind him. Bill turned to see his supervisor, Jacob Cicatrix, approaching them quickly, stopping beside Bill and panting slightly as he wiped his brow with his kerchief.

“Alright, Jacob?” Bill asked, stepping away slightly to avoid what Jacob would call his natural musk, and what Bill would call a new brand of bottled sweat mixed with an overachieving man barely in his twenties.

“Yes, yes,” he assured, waving his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I see you’ve met Miss Delacour already. She’s going to be a great new addition to the office.”

Bill’s eyes widened, sliding back to Delacour who was openly smiling at Bill now, her expression mischievous as she stared at him.

“Yes,” Cicatrix continued. “She is here to study English and will also be assisting in the department. It will be a much-needed help as you know with how swamped we are.”

“Yes,” she said before Bill could even close his mouth from it’s surprised expression. “I was juz getting to know Bill, actually.”

Well fuck.

Bill stared in wonder at the beautiful woman in front of him as she sent him a sly wink back.

* * *

Fleur Delacour spoke with a wit Bill hadn’t expected.

Often, she would exchange a knowing look with him whenever they sat together and worked, catching onto things she thought were funny, and regaling Bill with comparing several cases with her life and others that she’d heard stories of.

She would start small conversations about her life in France and how England was so different, and he would prompt her to continue, genuinely interested in what she had to say. Every story was told like it was an adventure, and even made the process of paperwork more engaging because she would draw up theories about the lives of the people in their files.

At one point, she mentioned that it helped her English when she spoke it aloud and often, and Bill was more than willing to help her if it meant being in her presence. They ended up sharing several dinners together in the office; Bill would bring takeout from local shops that she mentioned wanting to try. They would sit around his desk, discussing Curse-Breaking as a profession, and he even taught Fleur how to break simple curses so she understood the mechanisms better.

In one particular instance, there was a woman who placed a curse on her newlywed husband, and it was important to note that the witch was young and the wizard was forty-five years her senior. The curse increased the ageing process, and they both suspected it was because the wizard owned a large company that would go to the young witch should he meet an untimely death.

Bill and Fleur read in the report that as soon as the Curse-Breakers took off the ring, they noted the immediate change in the old man’s features; his shoulders were less hunched, he had fewer wrinkles than before, and his overall expression was much less pained after the ring was removed and he was young again. Well, younger.

“He must’ve been very upzet,” Fleur mused, eating the last few bites of her chicken sandwich. She had a small crumb on the bottom of her lip, and Bill had to resist the temptation to wipe it away with his thumb.

“Not every day that the woman you think loves you is attempting to kill you,” Bill said, already having finished his food and leaning back in his chair, full and content.

She laughed. “Well, I imagine zis is normal for men who underestimate women.”

He chuckled. “Agreed. Of any of my siblings, my youngest sister Ginny is the one I’m most afraid of. She will give you exactly one warning before she hexes you.”

Fleur grinned at him, an open smile that reached her eyes. “I would love to meet her,” she said. Bill couldn’t help it, he argued to himself as he moved closer, brushing away the small crumb with his thumb. He heard her breath hitch and looked into her eyes. She was staring at him with an intensity that made his heart pound.

“You should,” he whispered, their lips inches from each other. When did that happen? “My family would love you.”

“Oh?” she asked, her breath ghosting against his mouth. She was looking at him with feverish eyes as she tilted her body closer to his, and without thinking he palmed her cheek and leaned in, kissing her.

He had been thinking of kissing her for months now, while he looked at her lips every time she bit into them when she was frustrated, or when he glanced at her bare shoulders whenever she wore something more revealing.

She was incredibly soft. Her full, yielding lips, her smooth nose brushing against his tentatively, the velvet skin of her jaw as his fingers traced patterns across it.

She was not only soft, however. As soon as Bill kissed her with more insistence, more fire, she crawled into his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, and as she had done with the Welsh Green dragon in the Triwizard Tournament, Fleur lulled Bill into pliancy with her touch. She had a clean, floral scent that was simultaneously calming and intoxicating, and Bill found himself getting lost in it.

Her enchantment did not make him sleep, however, but made him build up more heat for her. After a few minutes of letting her ravish him with her mouth, he took control again. He picked her up and deposited her on his desk as he shoved away what he thought at the moment were rather useless papers and objects. She giggled into his mouth but let out a soft keen as he moved to kiss down her jaw and throat.

“Bill,” she moaned, and he groaned against her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush with his hips.

As his hand started delving under her shirt, there was a pointed, harsh cough from somewhere behind them. Fleur gasped and pushed him away, and Bill stayed frozen for a second longer before his eyes slid to the door, where a goblin was staring at them—but mainly Bill—in distaste.

Running a hand through his hair, Bill smiled sheepishly, looking at Fleur attempt to sort her ruffled clothes from his periphery.

“If you two are done wasting time while being paid,” the nondescript goblin said with a grimace, “I need the final report on the cursed necklace to deliver to my superior.”

Bill coughed, looking around his essentially destroyed desk for the report. He was about to step forward but Fleur got there first, looking for a few seconds before sounding a quiet “Aha!” and grabbing the mostly smooth papers, walking over to the goblin and handing them to him. She must’ve smiled at him because Bill could see the little goblin giving her a reluctant smile. The perfect part-Veela even got some teeth out of him, causing Bill to grin.

The goblin left, and Fleur kept her back to Bill for several more seconds before turning around, and if he was expecting shyness from her, he did not get it.

She smiled at him, and he knew then that a small part of him was going to be wrecked by her, forever.

* * *

The sky poured on the day they first had sex. Bill held Fleur against a wall as he kissed her bruisingly. She was wet from them getting caught in the rain outside, and the friction of her clothes against him was torturous. Her hands came up and removed an offending garment; he guessed a shirt. He couldn’t think because he was too busy looking at the softness of her skin before his eyes travelled up to her face. She was gazing at him much the same way he was likely looking at her, with unerring want painted on her pale features. Her blue eyes were pure heat as she stared at him, and she brought her hands to his collar, rapidly unbuttoning his shirt. He felt his heartbeat quicken as her hands travelled painstakingly slow. By the time she divested him of his shirt, Bill felt his entire body shaking with want.

He pressed her further into the wall before kissing down her throat and making a path with his mouth to her shoulder, nipping the skin there.

“Bed,” she gasped. “Now, Bill.”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed. He grabbed her by the waist and started pushing her back towards his room, stumbling down the hall as they rapidly undid the rest of their clothes. Well. Bill attempted to be more gentle, attempting to be soft for such a soft woman, but the dark, intent gleam in her eyes and the way she dug her nails into his lower spine showed him that she wanted anything but gentle. Before Bill could reciprocate her fire, she pushed him onto the bed, making herself at home in his lap as she took his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his.

She was hot and slick as he slid into her, and she touched the smooth expanse of his chest and arms as they found a rhythm that worked for them both.

“You’re so lovely,” she said, nibbling at a sensitive point she found on his shoulder months ago.

“High praise coming from you,” he said, giving a low growl when she started moving her hips at a new, sharper angle.

Her long, electric fingers were kindling sparks of sensation everywhere she touched, and Bill felt like his entire body was absorbing the charged energy, foreshadowing an impact of emotion and sensation that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle. As their space between worlds got warmer, he found that he could stay forever in the current they had made.

Later, when they laid together, naked and sated, Bill felt a delicate sort of happiness permeating through him, and he wondered how he could contain it within himself, away from all other irreparable things in the world.

* * *

**1997**

Bill woke blearily to a corporeal Patronus of a phoenix peering sagely at him beside his bed, and he sprang up, jolting wide awake. The resurrective bird relayed a message asking for help at Hogwarts, hurriedly notifying him of a break-in by Death Eaters. Looking at a still peacefully-sleeping Fleur, he tucked a loose hair from her face back before quietly getting out of bed. He grabbed his wand and went into their shared closet, coming out fully dressed. He looked at Fleur once more before bracing himself and Apparating to Hogsmeade.

The air was different, Bill thought as he materialised a few feet from a fountain near Madam Rosmerta’s, looking at the dark expanse leading up to the castle. Looking around and seeing nothing but a few drunken stragglers, he started walking quickly up the path to Hogwarts.

Arriving at the gates, he could feel the air tainted with dark magic and quickened his pace as he reached an empty entrance hall. Before he could decide what to do, he heard a loud scream and sprung up the stairs to see what the sound was. The corridor he stepped in was empty, and with only a moment's hesitation, he held his wand in a defensive stance as he approached the barely lit area.

A soft growl reverberated in the space, and before Bill could so much as swerve towards the sound and cast a Protego, a large, beast of a man barrelled into Bill and knocked him to the ground.

No, not a man.

A werewolf.

It was Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who bit and transformed Remus Lupin and was staring down at Bill with a horrifying grin that bared his yellow teeth.

“If it isn’t another Weasley,” the hairy man rasped, and Bill recoiled from the overwhelming stench of blood and sweat that was almost violently wafting off of the Death Eater’s robes and seeping into his pores. “Oh, I will enjoy this.”

His blood ran cold, and his eyes widened as the burly man lifted Bill off the ground by his throat before slamming him into the wall. He could feel blood at the back of his head from the impact but still attempted to struggle even though it was largely futile. He’d lost his wand somewhere when he fell but didn’t know where. Several seconds passed without anything happening, and when he opened his eyes he realised Greyback was waiting for Bill to see what he was going to do to him.

Greyback reared back, his claws menacing and the sound grating as he growled and slashed Bill’s face.

Searing, vivid pain travelled along Bill’s nerve endings as his skin was torn apart

Greyback’s claws felt like they were scratching to the very bones of Bill’s face. It was the sort of pain that imposed itself on all of a person's senses. He could feel the ripping of his skin, could smell the blood flowing out of him as Greyback flung him to the side before looming over him and slashing the rest of his body, could hear the way the pointed claws tore at Bill’s flesh, could taste the blood that was trickling down his face. And when he opened his eyes again, when he saw the gleam in the werewolf’s eyes as he surveyed his attack on Bill as if he were inspecting an art piece, he knew that this face of satisfaction meant he was irreparable.

“Think you’re brave for not screaming welp?” Greyback taunted. “You’ve got a pretty face. It’s too bad I’ve ruined it.”

White spots dotted his vision, and before he passed out, expecting his death, he thought of Fleur, with her serene and unmarred face as she slept, glad that he could think of her one last time before darkness claimed him.

* * *

Bill woke again, his entire body feeling like it had been torn apart. It took him several seconds to realise that it was because he was somewhere else, somewhere away from gnashing teeth and yellow eyes.

“Bill,” came a voice from his side. He turned despite his entire body protesting and looked up at the concerned face of Madam Pomfrey.

“What am I doing here?” Bill asked, his voice so rough it was as if several tiny spikes had made residence in his throat.

The matron paused for a moment, opening and closing her mouth several times before speaking. “You were attacked—”

“I know. By Greyback,” he said, and he saw her flinch briefly before she stepped forward.

“I need to heal your injuries. I’ve only stemmed the bleeding where you had some vital organs punctured,” she explained.

He flinched away from her. “Really, I’m fine,” he tried.

Pomfrey’s wrinkled brow creased even more as she frowned at him. “Bill, dear, I’m afraid I must insist on healing the more serious injuries you’ve gotten.”

Bill sighed heavily, before turning back to Pomfrey, his entire body feeling as if it was one wrong move from being shattered.

He laid on the bed as she vanished his clothing and put a sheet above his abdomen.

“Oh dear,” she said, frowning as she surveyed him.

Bill felt himself shaking as she performed basic diagnostics on him before frowning and casting them again. He felt the blood in his veins thrum, not the burning agony of before, but a steady tingling motion that was building to something else.

“Pomfrey,” he said, clenching his teeth as he felt his frustration increase at being so vulnerable in front of another person.

“I will be back in a moment with some more potent salve for your wounds. Just one moment, Bill. Stay still.” She hurried away as Bill fixed his gaze on a point on the ceiling, the old stone with cracked criss-cross motions spreading out over parts of the ceiling.

Somehow he expected the scars on his face and body to look similar.

A jigsaw with jagged pieces.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion outside, and in burst several people, mostly Order members but there was also Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Ron, who looked pale when he saw Bill, was uninjured and Bill found himself shaking with relief. His body burned at the movement, and he let out a hoarse noise from his closed mouth.

“Bill!” his younger brother cried.

Pomfrey stepped in front of the trio and the rest of the Order, demanding that she be allowed to heal her patient.

“What happened, Poppy?” he heard Remus ask in a gentle but firm voice.

Bill heard Pomfrey give an exasperated sigh. “The werewolf Fenrir Greyback attacked him. I do not know the extent of his injuries as it pertains to—” He heard her pause “—only that when he was brought here he had several damaged organs and the lacerations on him were deep.”

When Bill turned, he saw Remus step towards him, his lips thin as he inspected Bill’s injuries from his face to his chest. Bill did not want yet to know how bad he looked, but he knew had to ask.

“How bad is it?” Bill asked grimly. “Be honest.”

Lupin spoke, a sad smile on his scarred face. “We have yet to see the full extent of what Greyback did to you, Bill. Let’s not worry until we know.”

Pomfrey came to his other side and started applying salve to his chest and some other healing supplies he did not know the names of.

“Remus,” he said again. “How bad do they look?”

A look of recognition, then understanding painted the exhausted man’s face, before he nodded. “I imagine nothing I tell you will prepare you for what you perceive as bad, Bill.” Bill shook his head, feeling more than just his body crumbling. “It will be hard from now on, but only so much as you make it so.” The werewolf, younger than the tired lines on his face and the hunched shoulders showed, stared at Bill with a sad expression, a look of shared humanity Bill selfishly didn’t want any part of, before turning to Harry who was explaining to the room what had happened on the Astronomy tower.

He could hear Harry explaining to everyone, including a weary McGonagall and the rest of the people in the room, that Draco Malfoy had somehow let the Death Eaters into the castle, that Harry had watched the hesitancy on Malfoy’s face when finally faced with his impossible task, and that Severus Snape, someone they shouldn't have trusted, killed the headmaster where he stood.

Bill laid there, tuning in and out of the conversation and feeling his eyelids dip heavily as Pomfrey healed him, whispering sympathetic apologies in the process until the doors burst open again.

“Bill!” he heard both his mum and Fleur cry out.

Suddenly he felt even more ashamed, felt naked and utterly exposed. He tried to sit up, tried to move away, to cover himself, to do something that could hide what happened to him. But Pomfrey pushed him back down, and they ran to his bedside, his mother weeping and Fleur staring at him in stunned silence. He didn’t understand the look that passed through her eyes, but he could see tears shimmering in her beautiful blue eyes.

“Bill,” his mum wailed. “Oh Bill, my handsome, beautiful boy.” She reached to touch his face, and he flinched violently away from her. She pulled back a moment, a hurt expression on her face, but continued. “I’m so sorry. How could this happen to you? My oldest son, how could they?” She took the salve Pomfrey had been spreading over him and started doing it herself, spreading the ointment on a particularly nasty gash, hot tears tracking down her face as Bill’s father set his hands on her shoulders and looked down at Bill with a downcast expression.

“It does not matter, dear, how you look,” she said determinedly. “You are still my handsome boy.” His mother gasped from crying so much and pulled back to wipe her nose and eyes with her checkered, jagged apron while Bill stared numbly at her. He dazedly wondered if she’d been cooking bread late again. “Oh Bill, you were supposed to get married,” she cried. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter—”

“What iz zat supposed to mean?” Fleur interrupted angrily, her curious stare quickly morphing into anger as she looked at his mother. Her cheeks were flushed as she glared at the older woman.

His mum looked surprised. “Oh...well I only meant that…”

“What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk!”

Suddenly the room was dead silent, and he didn’t catch his mum’s or anyone else’s expression because his gaze fixed on Fleur as she snatched the ointment from his mum and sat on the side of his bed, starting to put it on herself.

“Fleur you don’t need to—” Bill tried.

“Yes I do!” she said resolutely. “You are going to be my husband, and I am taking care of you because you are hurt, as you would take care of me.” She gave him a pointed look. “Or would you not?”

“I always would, you know that,” he said fiercely, wincing at the way his jaw locked in pain.

“Good, then,” she said, smiling tremulously at him. Her eyes were determined as she helped heal him.

How was he supposed to tell her that he felt irreparable at that moment?

* * *

Bill was slack-jawed as he fixed his gaze on Fleur. She came out in a simple white wedding dress and crossed the path in the garden, holding her father’s arm.

He could feel the entire wedding party affix their gaze on her beauty, and even after a year together he still found himself mesmerised every time she smiled at him the way she was now.

Only now, even though his scars healed they were ever-present, marring half his face, and he had to resist stepping away from the golden lights of their backyard wedding behind the burrow. Luckily, Bill was not a werewolf. He had some wolfish tendencies, such as being more partial to medium-rare meat, but overall he was told by the healer he saw that he should be feeling his normal self.

Only Bill did not know what normal felt... It certainly wasn’t this, him disassociating on his own wedding day.

It had been a month since Dumbledore’s death. Fleur and his mum, now closer than ever after putting aside their differences since the night Bill got injured, both insisted that they wouldn’t bow down to the dark forces and would live their lives despite the encroaching shadows.

So here he was, staring at the woman he loved more than he ever thought it possible to love another walking towards him, looking at Bill as if he were the cure to all of her ills. It made him feel guilty that his mind was not entirely on her, so he dismissed his insecurities and looked at her again with a fond smile as she came to stand in front of him.

He couldn’t help the flinch when Fleur cupped his face, and the furrowing of her brows showed him that no matter how imperceptible his insecurity was to the people watching them, she saw it.

She would always see the scars and the person under them, the person he no longer was.

As the wizard took hold of their hands and tied the golden band around her delicate hand, he looked at his own hand, with fewer scars than the rest of his body, but still present enough to remind him how they thickened under his sleeve, and he felt his breath catch and his breathing start to get heavy as he felt himself lose control.

_Get control of yourself._

He breathed in and out several times before calming himself and straightened his back to look more confident than he felt.

As the wizard finished the bonding spell and told them they could kiss, Bill dipped his head to kiss Fleur sweetly, so sweetly, but all he could think about was how soft she was and how broken he had become. She was the beautiful landscape, and he was the ripped painting someone had sliced with sharp claws.

He hoped the golden balloons cast overhead of them did not cast light on his marred face as they danced a traditional wedding dance together. He was out of this world happy but he couldn’t help the niggling feeling that people were looking at him with pity or wondering how such a beautiful woman could be with him.

“Bill,” Fleur said softly, calling his attention back. She smiled at him patiently and slid her arms around his waist as she looked up at him. “Tonight haz been lovely.”

He smiled at her, palming her soft face in his hands and gently sliding his thumb over the arch of her high cheekbone. “It has.”

Her eyes darkened. “We finally get to spend time alone together.”

Bill’s breath hitched. They hadn’t had a moment of peace the last month to really be together, and at night they were too tired with all of the work they’d been doing with the Order along with wedding planning to really do more than lazily kiss each other before falling asleep.

Not that Bill minded. Not that he didn’t want Fleur. He’d never wanted another person more, and he expected that he never could again, but he hadn’t been ready for Fleur to see the scars on his body again.

The last time they had sex was before Bill had been scratched. He didn’t... He didn’t know how it would be this time. Would she look at his scars and mask her disgust? Fleur was kind, and he knew she loved him, but she’d seen another version of him before. Who was to say that this version of him would be desirable for her?

His lips thinned as he thought about it, but he shook his head, getting back to the present, and held Fleur tighter to his arms. He looked down at her face and gave her a ghost of a smirk before leaning down and capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. She immediately reciprocated, and after hearing some cheers from the party-goers, Bill pulled back a bit and murmured against her mouth, “All alone to do everything I’ve wanted to do to you for the last month.”

She shivered against him, but before she could reply, a bright light appeared in the middle of the tent where they were standing, and a lynx Patronus appeared.

Kinsley Shacklebolt’s voice came out. “The Ministry has fallen. The Death Eaters are coming,” he said calmly but urgently. Just moments after the Lynx wisped away, several cracks sounded in and out of the marquee tent they were using, and Bill looked to the horrified face of Fleur.

Catching his parents eyes and looking to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione all Disapparating together, he tightened his hold on Fleur and Apparated out amongst the chaos.

They arrived at Shell Cottage, Bill breathing heavily as his knees almost gave out.

“Bill,” Fleur said worriedly beside him. Her eyes were troubled and her mouth pinched as she met his eyes. “What do we do?”

“We mustn't worry. We planned for this if anything were to happen.” He took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We just have to wait to hear from everyone.”

She nodded, then went to their new kitchen and started the kettle and made them tea. Several minutes later, his father’s weasel came scurrying into the room, informing Bill that everyone was safe, but they were worried that Ron hadn’t made it out.

Bill heaved a sigh of relief, finally picking up his tea, and then sent a Patronus to his father to assure him that he saw Ron get out safely with Harry and Hermione.

“Thank goodness,” Fleur said, settling down gracefully next to him on the couch.

He nodded, and they drank the rest of their tea in contemplative silence.

The war had officially begun, and all they could do now was wait for orders.

After a while, Fleur came to sit in Bill’s lap and placed her forehead against his, wrapping herself around him. He circled his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead. She gripped the back of his hair so that he looked up at her, and she gave him a soft smile.

“It’s still our wedding night, we don’t have to waste it.”

He hummed and pulled her closer as he kissed her.

“Bed,” she said breathily after several minutes.

He agreed wholeheartedly. Standing, he lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her out of the room and up the stairs to their new bedroom. She giggled into his neck when he had trouble opening the door.

“It’s your fault for nipping my neck like that,” he teased, moaning when she started sucking on a sensitive point near his collarbone that she’d found months ago.

“Is that so?” He could feel her smiling against his neck, and finally opening the door, he walked in and sat her down on the bed. She lay back against it, her hair loose and beautiful around her as she stared up at him, a hungry want clear on her features.

He groaned, climbing on top of her and kissing her bruisingly.

It hadn’t actually been that long since they’d had sex, but Fleur was always delectable to him, and so he traced his hands down her body and then around her back as he looked for the zip of the beautiful dress he just wanted to tear off. After finding his goal, he sat up and tugged the zip down and let it fall from her shoulders before sliding it down her body. She lifted her pert arse to aid him. He slid her knickers down along too, and she helped him by removing her bra, baring all of herself to him.

He wanted to taste every inch of her skin.

“Your turn,” she said, and he could hear her breathing more heavily as she sat up and started unbuckling him. Bill groaned as she made quick work of his belt and started unbuttoning his trousers. He dragged his finger across one of her nipples and Fleur shivered, her hands now shaking as she pushed his pants down.

“Bill,” she whined. Needing no further prompting, he pushed her gently back on to the bed and climbed on top of her, setting himself between her soft thighs.

He kissed her as they started moving together, and he could feel her begin to unbutton his shirt as she kissed down his neck.

He panicked, grabbing hold of her wrists and placing them above her head. She struggled a bit against him, and when he opened his eyes, she was staring at him in confusion, pale brows furrowing.

“Bill?” she asked, shaking her hands free and cupping his face in worry.

He attempted a smirk but he suspected it came out more like a grimace. “It’s fine. I just—it’s fine, Fleur.”

Recognition dawned on her features. “Do you still—”

“I’m sorry. I just—” He tried turning his face away, embarrassed at how he was acting on their wedding night, close to having an emotional breakdown while he was inside his wife, but she turned his face back to her, looking determined.

“We haven’t been together since your attack. We can take it slow if you need to. I will never judge you for your looks, my love.”

Bill looked at her a moment before nodding, and he started moving again, hoping to distract her from the pained look on his face, and she shook underneath him before wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. He rested his face in her neck, groaning at how tight and wet she was.

“Bill,” she whispered against him, and he could hear her falling apart.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He felt himself coming apart as well, in more ways than one.

“I love you too,” he said, hiding his face away from the moonlight that crept into the windows.

They lay in each other’s arms that night, Bill still wearing his shirt, feeling that delicate fragility breaking around them.

* * *

**1998**

They had sex several more times, and each time Fleur tried removing his shirt, Bill tried, he really tried to let her see him, but he always took her hands away and apologised.

Fleur was patient, but he could see that she was getting visibly frustrated.

One day, after they finished eating lunch, Fleur suddenly climbed on top of him, an echo of the way they first kissed back in a dimly lit office at Gringotts, kissing him desperately. Confused, he still wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. She skimmed her hands up his chest, and in a move that completely startled him, tried ripping his shirt open.

“Bloody hell, Fleur!” he said, standing and removing Fleur from his lap, picking up his wands and repairing the loose buttons on the top of his shirt. “What was that for?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone frustrated. “Bill… we need to… We need to talk.”

He looked at her, and the way she was staring at him made him feel pain leeching up his insides, the phantom sensation of his scars thrumming whenever he became stressed.

“I told your mother this, and I do not say words I do not mean. You are my love, Bill. I do not require beauty to want you.”

He glared at her and couldn’t help the way he lashed out. “So you admit that the ugliness exists!”

“You are wrong, Bill!” He had never seen her so exasperated as she was at that moment. She stood up from her seat and pulled at her loose braid while she paced to the stove and then back again.

“I am always told of my beauty, ever since I was young. I was always looked at but no one eve saw me.”

“Fleur,” he said tiredly.

“You saw me,” she finished. There were tears in her eyes, and before she could say something else, they both felt movements in their wards. They looked at each other briefly before shooting up and moving towards the door. When they opened it there was Ron, Harry, and Hermione at a distance, all on the ground. As they ran to the trio, Bill saw Ron clutching a barely conscious Hermione in his arms, and he noted grimly that her arm was gushing with blood. To their side was Ollivander, Dean Thomas, and a blonde girl Bill remembered Ron calling Luna Lovegood.

“No…” he heard Fleur cry out. And he looked to see Harry a distance away clutching the limp body of a house-elf who he realised grimly was Dobby.

Bill hung his head for a moment before straightening his shoulders and getting into action. He and Fleur took everyone inside, Bill attempting to help an inconsolable Harry carry Dobby, but he yelled at Bill not to touch him.

Stepping back, he helped a sickly Ollivander into the house. Fleur went upstairs with Ron who was carrying a now-unconscious Hermione, and Bill quickly waved his wand around to create makeshift cots. He rummaged through the kitchen drawer for some extra wands and handed them to Dean and Lovegood, ordering them to monitor everyone while he went upstairs. He glanced wearily at Harry once more, on the ground and staring at Dobby with blank eyes, before climbing up the steps.

Bill entered the guest room where Ron was now openly crying as he set Hermione on the bed. “Hermione, I’m sorry. So so sorry...I’m sorry.”

Fleur came from the bathroom with a first-aid kit and tied her braid up as she went to Hermione's side. “Bill, take him out of ze room and come help me,” she said.

He nodded and took a struggling Ron in his arms and out of the room.

“No! I have to stay by her side,” Ron cried out. “I wasn’t able to protect her. I have to stay by her side.”

“Come on, Ron,” Bill urged, grunting when his burly brother struggled even more in his arms. Ron had always been the broadest of their siblings, and even though Bill was taller, he was considerably leaner and wrestled against his brother’s weight. “Calm down, Ron,” he said, in a tone less panicked than he felt. It felt like something capsized in him after the fight with Fleur and then everybody arriving injured. “You’re of no use to her right now when you’re also injured.”

“Bill,” he pleaded despairingly.

“Trust me,” he said, tone firm. “We will heal her. You and Harry both have injuries. Heal yourselves, and I’ll call you when there’s been an update.”

Ron wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded miserably before turning around and heading back downstairs.

Bill put his hand on the wall for only a moment for support before turning back to the room.

Fleur had taken off Hermione’s jacket and had pulled up the long-sleeve of her shirt, inspecting the injury.

“Oh no,” she breathed, putting her fingers to her lips.

“What happened to her?” he asked, uncuffing his sleeves and pulling them up to come help.

She looked up, nodding at Bill to come over.

Hermione had eight cruel letters carved into her skin, spelling Mudblood, spanning from her wrist to her forearm. He gasped and looked up at her sickly face.

“How could someone do this to her?” Bill asked, horrified that someone so young could have her skin marred like this.

Hermione jolted up suddenly as Bill moved closer to help Fleur, breathing rapidly and thrashing. Bill placed his hands on her shoulder to calm her, but that was the wrong move because she scurried to the other side of the bed.

“Hermione, please,” he tried.

“Draco! Where’s Draco?” she asked, her voice so hoarse it sounded like she damaged her vocal cords.

Bill’s brows furrowed. “Draco?” he asked but didn’t mind her comment at the moment as they tried to calm her. “Just lay down so we can help you, Hermione. You’re hurt.”

“No no. I need—” she gasped, grabbing her arm again with a cry. “I need to get... Owwww,” she cried again. She looked ready to faint from the pain.

Fleur turned to him, sharing a look. Bill nodded and stunned Hermione with a muttered apology. The curly-haired witch fell back on the bed, and they both sighed heavily before moving towards her.

“Draco?” Fleur asked. “Does she mean Draco Malfoy?”

He nodded. “I have about as much of an idea as you do. Let’s help her for now.”

She nodded, and they started their work to heal another broken child in a war.

* * *

Bill entered the room Hermione was in and was surprised to find her out of bed, sitting by the windowsill looking out at the sandy expanse.

“Hermione,” he said softly.

She jumped slightly, before exhaling and turning into him with a weak smile. “I feel well enough to get out of the bed. Besides. We need to plan soon.”

“That does not all rely on you,” he reminded her.

She gave a dejected sigh before turning herself fully to Bill as he sat down on the stool. He could see a peek of white bandages under her shirt. He saw her own eyes travel down her wrist, and she stared for a moment, eyes watering, and closed her eyes several seconds before looking up at him.

“We all play our roles in the war; there is almost no person that comes out unscathed.” He heard her breath hitch. “I do what I must.”

Bill thought for a moment. “These roles we play, does this include Malfoy?”

Hermione swerved her head at him, looking like a startled deer as she regarded him suspiciously.

“I don’t…”

He put his hand up. “You called for him before we stunned you. Sorry about that by the way,” he said when she winced. “And you don’t have to tell me. I understand wanting to hide parts of yourself from others.”

She looked at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I imagine the parts you want to hide are more physical.”

He gave her a wan smile, respecting the shrewd witch. “Both.”

She looked at him again before averting her gaze, looking down. “Mine too, now.”

They shared a tired but companionable silence for several minutes before Bill heard Fleur call for him downstairs. “I’ll leave you to rest.” She nodded at him. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Bill,” she said as he placed his hand on the doorknob. He turned back around and waited, the building feeling of a heavy boulder pressing into his chest lessening a bit.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times before speaking. “How do you deal with your scars?”

He thought about it a moment. “I’ll tell you if I figure it out.”

She gave him a wan smile. “I’ll tell you if I figure it out first.”

“You are the brightest witch of your age, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He was happy for the grin that spread across her freckled face. She was too young for all the pain caused by adults.

By the suddenly determined expression she gave him, Bill wondered if maybe it would be better to listen to the kids more.

A few days later when the trio departed with grim but determined expressions, and Hermione Granger smiled at Bill reassuringly despite her stricken exterior and held up her bandaged arm for him to see, he felt something... not entirely whole but something filling inside of him.

* * *

The Second Wizarding War had come to a head, here at Hogwarts. It was disconcerting seeing a place that had been the safest in the wizarding world filled with destruction and ruin. The Boy Who Lived once more finally defeated Voldemort, dead on the Great Hall floor, so simple and human despite the innumerable deaths he’d caused.

Bill was still reeling from the death of Fred, and after allowing his mum and dad to cry in his arms, he stood up and went to look for Fleur.

After the ashes of dust and war and sorrow all stood still, frozen in the euphoria of something that should’ve felt like success but instead felt like bittersweet with the measurement paying out more to bitter, Bill walked the once comforting halls with a heaviness in his heart that he know would never fully go away.

Bill looked around for Fleur, sure he had just seen her at the hospital wing, and then he stopped in what should have been an empty classroom.

Instead, as he peered inside, he saw something that made his breath hitch, his heart tripping in his chest.

Hermione was standing in front of Draco Malfoy, their gazes latched onto each other as if no other person could breach their space between worlds.

He knew because he felt the same way when he was with Fleur.

He was about to turn away, uncomfortable with invading what looked to be a charged and vulnerable moment, but then he saw Malfoy gently grab Hermione’s arm, lifting the sleeve and staring down at what Bill knew was her Mudblood scar.

“Hermione…” he heard Malfoy say. There was a broken quality to his voice as he said her name.

She shook her head, attempting to take her arm away, but Malfoy stepped closer, holding tighter to her.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Bill could see Hermione’s eyes widen before tears pooled, and she started crying. Malfoy reached up and gently wiped them away before pulling her into his arms.

“I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done more.”

She shook her head. “Bellatrix would’ve killed me if you did. There was nothing you could do.” Pulling back, Hermione traced a hand in a criss-cross motion down his chest, as if outlining a shape Bill was not aware of.

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and the young boy palmed Hermione’s cheek before leaning forward.

Bill’s turned away from them, not wanting to be present any longer for what was to undoubtedly be a more private moment.

He would not pretend to understand how the two of them could ever work with their vastly different worlds, but as he finally caught sight of Fleur speaking with a less than put together Olympe Maxime, Bill realised that love wasn’t supposed to make sense.

He apologised to Maxime, pulling Fleur away and towards an empty classroom, and as he closed the door and pressed her to it with his body, as she returned his desperate kisses with her own, he realised what a fool he had been to assume that love was something perfect, something symmetrical and smooth. As Fleur divested herself of her clothes, Bill did the same.

Including his shirt.

Fleur’s eyes widened, and though he still felt vulnerable with the crisscrossing, raised scars on his chest, torso, and arms, he stood plainly before her anyway.

She was still capable of surprising him, and he expected she always would. Instead of the pitying but loving glance he expected, instead of tears, Fleur gave him a wicked expression that made his stomach cave in. She stepped closer to him, tentatively tracing his scars with a feather-soft touch, and kissed each place she touched with her hands, burning him in the best way.

“Fleur,” he rasped, stepping into her and picking her up. She wrapped her legs around him and looked at him as he pressed her back into the door.

“Bill,” she replied, smiling that brilliant smile of hers. The one that debilitated him. It was then that he noticed her own scars and bruises from the battles. She had a gash on one of her shoulders that was healing but would likely leave a small scar, a bruise on her rib that probably hurt whenever she turned a certain way, and several places on her body where there was dried blood and other bruises.

“You’re hurt,” he said, lips thinning in worry.

“I’m alive and do not care for these injuries.” She wriggled in his arms until he set her down, and she pushed him back until he was laying on an old rickety table, climbing on top of him. “You are alive, and we are going to be hurt and be grieving after this but right now—” She tilted her hips forward and sunk down on him, putting her trembling hands around his neck as she pulled him closer and kissed him. “Right now, I want to be with you. Only you.”

He kissed her back and groaned as she moved above him. She gasped as he shifted deeper, tightening her hands around his shoulders before sitting back up.

She stared down at him as she traced his scars again and left open-mouthed kisses at the parts she could reach. The way she was looking at him reminded Bill of the look that passed over her face when she saw his injuries for the first time in the hospital wing; he still couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Fleur?”

“Hmm?” she answered, and he wondered if this wondrous woman was even paying attention to him as she sought her own pleasure. When he didn’t speak for a moment, she looked down at him, her gaze intense. “Yes, Bill?”

“You gave me that look once before when I was first injured. What does it mean, exactly?”

She stopped moving for a moment, and if he weren’t so eager to know he would’ve groaned in disappointment.

“Curiosity,” she simply said.

He quirked a brow. “Curiosity?”

She nodded. “I had grown up in a world that touted my beauty, my sister’s, my entire family, really. All of ze adults in my life preached the importance of perfection and purity, that one must always look refined and not have even a hair out of place.” She continued moving above him as she spoke, and he had to keep a grip on her hips so that she didn’t tumble too quickly, fearing that her emotions would wear out quicker that way.

She smiled at him again and placed her hands on his as they moved together. “When I first saw you, I was interested in how you presented yourself like you had no care in the world. You wore your hair longer and had a fang earring, you smiled at me and actually saw me instead of gaping openly at how I looked.”

“I admittedly gaped a little,” Bill teased, flipping them so he was on top of her.

“Well, I know I’m beautiful, I can hardly fault you for it,” she deadpanned.

Bill let out a barking laugh, which seemed ridiculous considering where they were and what just happened not one hour ago, but he feared that his only other reaction would be to cry so he settled for it.

She gave him an admonishing smile and continued. “You were attentive when I told you of my interests and my culture, and genuinely immersed yourself in the things that I liked not because of who I was but because you found them interesting. You found me interesting, instead of what people made me.”

“Of course I did,” Bill choked, feeling overwhelmed by the emotion in Fleur’s eyes.

“I know. And when I saw you in that bed, I admit I assumed zat I would be disgusted, that all of the things I learned from my parents of what a beautiful person is and who I should be with would be true, and I was curious, I was transfixed and shocked all at once that I zid not care. I saw you and only you, the man I loved, injured and needing to be taken care of.” Fleur suddenly started crying. “Then you started pushing away from me, and I thought I was going to lose you because you did not want to be with me out of fear.”

“Fleur…”

“I zid not want to lose you, Bill,” She started hyperventilating, her chest rising and falling too rapidly. “And that was all I thought about, even today. I worried that even if I did not lose your heart, I would lose you to death. I can’t—”

“Shhh, hey it’s okay.” He smoothed his hands down her arms. “I will never stop loving you, even if it kills me. Please don’t think that. I was—”

“I know. Now I know.” She traced his scars again, kissing the part of his chest where the largest smattering of scars was and pressing her lips to his pounding heart. “You’ve come back to me, William.”

He smiled. “William?”

She grabbed his face and kissed him bruisingly, whispering against his mouth. “Didn’t you say when we first met that you’re called William when you’ve gotten into trouble?”

“Yes, I have, and what trouble am I in now?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe having sex in a classroom where anyone can walk in on us?”

Bill looked up at her, grinning. “Something tells me we are not the only ones having a private moment in a classroom right now.”

At her bemused expression, Bill kissed her again.

“Besides,” she said, gasping when Bill teased her with his fingers. “I think your scars are sexy.”

He laughed.

As their world grew warmer, Bill thought something he’d thought the first time he saw her, though she was now bruised and bloody and tired, and he marred and broken but still alive.

She was beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on tumblr! simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com
> 
> Credit: “What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk!” - Line taken directly from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.


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